


Single Constant

by Vrunka



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Potential Blue lions route spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: With his hair down, Felix looks like his father.Maybe more terribly:With his hair down, Felix looks like Glenn.





	Single Constant

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just an excuse to write Felix who hates eye contact.

With his hair down, Felix looks like his father, how Sylvain remembers the man looking as they grew up. A wild and untested edge, more reckless than Sylvain’s own father; a man who wore that recklessness in his very demeanor.

Invincible was the word for it. When they were younger, Roderick had seemed so invincible. Sylvain had looked up to him as a kid, respected him more than his own dad. He had always kinda wished deep down that Roderick was his father though as he had gotten older those wishes had turned more nebulous, tinged differently.

Felix with his hair down is a reminder of those feelings; uncomfortable in the way facing a childhood crush is, starkly personal. Too revealing. It’s not like they’re the same, Roderick and Felix are about as totally different as they come. Their eyes are different, the shape of their brows. Felix has his mother’s face, his mother’s grace, his mother’s more willowy frame. He has his father’s hair.

Sylvain swallows as he runs his fingers through it.

Maybe more terribly:

With his hair down, Felix looks like Glenn.

The ghost of him.

When they were kids, Felix could never have been mistaken for him. But now, just a few years older than Glenn will ever be, Felix has grown into it. Grown into the length of his body, the skinniness of his limbs, the sharpness of his chin. A few years older than Glenn will ever be and it’s like looking at an echo of the man he never got to become.

There are some mornings where Sylvain must fight himself not to make the observation out loud. Felix would never take it right, might never forgive the association.

The unhealed wound of it.

He can preach all day about the dead being dead, about moving past their memory, but he’s never been one who is much good at following his own advice. A hypocrite when it really comes down to it.

His head turns on Sylvain’s chest; pillowed there, cuddling after last night’s very thorough workout. He takes a long, measured breath through his nose before speaking.

“Your heartbeat is erratic,” he says, flatly, complaining, “it woke me.” He is staring at Sylvain’s chin, brows furrowed. If it weren’t for the sleepy pout to his lips, Sylvain would consider it glaring.

“Sorry,” Sylvain says. He tightens his arm where it is curled around Felix’s hip, tugs until Felix is pulled flush against him. Face tilted upwards so Sylvain can press a kiss onto that noble brow.

“You were thinking about something,” Felix says. His eyes dart away, and Sylvain subconsciously swallows when they land on his throat. His Adam’s apple trembles.

“Nothing important, I assure you. Thinking about how lucky I am to have you by my side,” Sylvain says. He usually delivers lines like that better, his voice comes out too thick, overworked. He’s been out of practice since they’ve...since they’ve started being what they always danced around before.

Lovers.

Something like destiny. One unable to exist without the other.

Felix snorts. He sits up, gathers that pretty hair in one fist, tugging it up. He seems to realize he has nothing to pin it with and with a sigh that can only be called exaggerated, he lets it fall back down. “You should probably not treat me like one of your maidens if you want to keep it that way,” Felix says.

“Old habits.”

“I suppose.” Felix shifts his hand through his hair again. His gaze casts about the bedside desk. He’s never been good at eye contact, making or maintaining it. For someone as brash and bold as he is, it’s a surprisingly endearing trait.

“You’re still thinking too hard,” Felix says flatly. “It’s written all over your stupid face.”

“You’re cute,” Sylvain says. “I rarely get to see you with your hair down, you know.”

Felix sighs. In the morning light that is filtering through the widow his pretty dark hair is laced with silver. Little highlights like cobwebs, intricate and delicate and thin. Most of the room is still shrouded in shadow, the watery dawn not enough to dispel the clinging dark. In this lighting, Felix could almost be the moon, the only constant Sylvain has ever known.

Sylvain reaches out, slowly, wordlessly asking permission. It’s always better to, with Felix, even if the only conformation he’s given is a tacit tilt of the head.

Sylvain threads his fingers through the soft, tangled strands.

“You’re beautiful,” Sylvain says. Not a line this time, he hopes it doesn’t sound delivered like one. His breathing feels shaky, chest too tight, constricting everytime he inhales. Felix is beautiful and he deserves to hear it.

He is beautiful and not because he looks like his father.

And not because he looks like Glenn.

“Would you shut up,” Felix grumbles. There’s a blush on his cheeks that diffuses any hurt his tone could carry. In all their years together, Sylvain has been on the receiving end of much worse.

Sylvain slips his fingers around to the back of Felix’s head, cradling just above the start of his neck. His fingers press in, gently, and Felix groans at the pressure. His body slides forward, into Sylvain’s lap, with very little extra insistence.

“Isn’t too early for this,” Felix asks. “Being insatiable like an animal doesn’t suit nobility, Sylvain. Just ask Lorenz, I’m sure he would be more than happy to—,”

Sylvain kisses him, deeply. Tongue sliding between Felix’s lips, greedy and sloppy. They break apart after only a moment. Felix’s pupils are pinpoints, perfect little circles in the amber of his iris.

“Don’t mention that asshole’s name while you’re in bed with me, huh? And early or late is more a matter of perception. I didn’t sleep,” Sylvain quips back. “It’s still the middle of the night for me.”

Felix rolls his eyes. His lingering gaze is centered somewhere above Sylvain’s right ear. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says. “We leave for the Kingdom tomorrow, after all this time, we’ve turned our army north and you decide it’s the perfect time to get no sleep. You’re a moron, Sylvain.”

“Maybe that’s precisely why I couldn’t sleep.”

It isn’t, but it feels genuine enough to say. Sylvain doesn’t make it a habit of lying to Felix, but there’s no room for ghosts between the two of them. Not after Felix has worked so damn hard to pull himself free from the graveyard of his past.

“I know you don’t fear dying,” Felix says. He tips his head forward, balances his face against Sylvain’s shoulder. There are bruises on Sylvain’s collar, all along the bone right near where Felix’s mouth lands.

Territory that he has already conquered. Sylvain would give his entire self over if Felix asked it of him.

“Your heart is still going crazy,” Felix says.

Sylvain presses his hand against Felix’s chest in answer. Palm flat and fingers spread. The skin is warm under his touch, Felix has always run a little hot, even with how skinny he is. A veritable walking heater that Sylvain was never above monopolizing in the frigid winters of their youth.

“I could say the same to you,” Sylvain teases. “It’s beating so hard.”

Felix makes an undignified little sound, objections clattering together at the top of his throat. Sylvain can hear them, catching on one another, sputtering insults tangled up together. It’s cute, though Felix would kill him for ever thinking it, it’s cute and Sylvain is glad that Felix trusts him enough to let him see these vulnerable little moments.

Felix hangs his head, his bangs shifting to cover his eyes, the free ends of it curling in the air.

“Of course it is,” Felix finally hisses. “It’s always like this when I’m with you.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not going to make me say it,” Felix says, defiant. “It’s bad enough as it is.”

“It’s okay,” Sylvain says. “You don’t have to say it.” Neither of them have to say it. Neither of them has ever had to say it. “In the battle tomorrow, I’ll be right behind you. I’ll be at your side.”

“I know,” Felix says. “And I’ll be at yours.”

Because they have promises to keep. More important than the ghosts of Felix’s family. More important than Dimitri or the Professor or the whole army.

Sylvain tilts his head, draws his lips across Felix’s in a slower, more careful kiss.

“It’s a promise,” Felix whispers, when they break apart.

I love you, he means.

He doesn’t have to say it. Sylvain hears it for exactly what it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I may be persuaded to add a second chapter of smut lol
> 
> As always, I’m open to feedback, comments questions. Come talk to me on Twitter @drunkvrunka if you want


End file.
